


December Christmas Carol Challange 2019

by MamzelleSouris



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arguing, Bad Puns, Betting Pool, Brig time, Bullying, Child Death, Christmas Carols, Christmas Music, Cold, Dancing, Decepticon Politics, Dessert & Sweets, Fluff, Implied Jazz/Mirage, Implied Prowl/Jazz - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Terrorism, Introspection, Light Angst, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Orphans, Post-Mission debrief, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Questions, Rain, Rainbows, Religious Discussion, Scheming, Silence, Slavery, Worse singing, political rally, staying up late
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 21:21:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 10,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21635494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MamzelleSouris/pseuds/MamzelleSouris
Summary: A personal challange - 25 days, 25 short fics - all inspired by christmas carols. Some are likely to be more christmassy than others.There will be a selection of characters and types of fic, including a few from my Another Deception AU.
Comments: 146
Kudos: 46





	1. Once In Royal Davids City

**Author's Note:**

> I think this is the obvious one to start with, as well as quite a well known carol.
> 
> In the Kings Collage, Cambridge Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols service this is the first carol, started by a treble soloist, and has been since 1919. The singer does not know that he is going to be chosen until a few minutes before the choir goes in for the service (which is usually broadcast by the BBC - so no pressure).
> 
> I see Optimus Prime, a mech who was an ordinary worker with humble beginnings, as having little patience with the luxurious trappings of the Primacy. 
> 
> Reviews are always welcome.

_Once in royal David's city  
Stood a loanly cattle shed  
Where a mother laid her baby  
In a manger for his bed_

“But my lord Prime, it is tradition!”

“But it is hideous!” Optimus looked around the opulent room helplessly. “All these gaudy bits of...of...of… stuff.” He waved a servo. “What does it do? What point does it have? Why do I need it?”

“It's traditional.”

“But... look, I’m not a noble, I don't know what to do with all this luxury. I’d prefer my private quarters to be a lot simpler. All I really need is a berth and a desk.”

“My lord, as Prime you are the highest ranked noble on Cybertron. The people expect you to live accordingly.”

“But…”

“As humble as your beginnings may have been you are Prime. The chosen one. You are the mechanism every mech on this planet looks up to. You will be expected to make sacrifices for your position.”

“The first of which is my comfort I take it?”

“No, my lord, the first of your sacrifices was your privacy. You are no longer a humble data clark, your every move is public, even in your quarters you must assume someone is watching you.” The high priest smiled down at the new Prime as Optimus dropped onto the berth with his helm in his servos. “I shall see you later for the meal my lord.”

“Thank you High Priest.” Optimus bowed the mech out before shutting the door and taking another look around the room. Tradition be dammed, half of this stuff could be got rid of tomorrow.


	2. We Three Kings of Orient Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another popular carol - sung by generations of British school kids as: "We three kings Of Orient Are, One in a Taxi, One in a Car, One on a scooter bipping his hooter, Following yonder star." Regional versions are available.
> 
> Why do mechs follow Starscream? Megatron doesn't know, but they obviously do for some reason.

_We three kings of orient are  
Bearing gifts we travel afar  
Field and fountain, moor and mountain   
Following yonder star_

Mechs followed Starscream, Megatron had realised a long time ago. Thundercracker and Skywarp were his constant shadows, both strong in their own right, but they followed Starscream.

Thundercracker’s loyalty was...not questionable, the blue seeker was a true Decepticon, but...uncertain. If it came to it Megatron thought he would side with his trine leader over his commander.

Skywarp was the mech he had more confidence in. He was seventy five percent sure that the black seeker would remain loyal to him. Skywarp was impulsive though, and might side with Starscream out of misplaced loyalty...or just habit.

The rest of his airforce were an enigma, ranging from loyal, through disaffected, to totally psycho. Thrust fought with Starscream almost constantly and debated the air commander’s orders as much as Starscream debated his. The shuttles all seemed frightened on the diminutive seeker (Megatron did not understand that at all - Starscream was comparatively fragile) and Sunstorm, the youngest of the seekers, seemed to idolise the white mech.

Megatron didn’t understand it. The Decepticon creed was ‘might makes right’, but Starscream, while agile and cunning (and vicious, and far too smart for Megatron’s comfort) was hardly mighty.

He was a bright star, and the Decepticon air force followed him, and Megatron didn’t understand why.


	3. Sweet Bells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A less well known version of a popular carol. This is a variant (one of many) of While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks by Night (Tate, 1696), recently popularised by the Yorkshire singer Kate Rusby (Her Sweet Bells album is a good listen at this time of year). The lyrics are from the village of Stannington in South Yorkshire and the song is part of the Sheffield Carols tradition.
> 
> I'm not sure why this one suggested a pranking Sideswipe to me, but it did, possibly because the tune is quite upbeat. It is probably part of the Another Deception AU if you squint.

_Sweet bells  
Sweet chiming bells  
Sweet chiming Christmas bells  
They cheer us on our heavenly way  
Sweet chiming bells_

Sideswipe resolutely avoided laughing. The jingling was getting louder and being caught laughing would give the game away.

Honestly, being seen at all might be a bad idea, but Sideswipe wouldn't miss the payoff of this prank for anything.

The jingling was getting louder, and closer, and was being accompanied by a muttered grumbling. Sideswipe schooled his expression and began strolling casually up the corridor towards the source of the noise.

Ironhide rounded the corner, looking thunderous. The jingling was being caused by the cheerful silver bells stuck to his back plating. The weapons specialist didn't appear to be appreciating the sound. He glared at Sideswipe, who was wearing an expression of innocent surprise.

“Ya want ta explain this?” The big mech growled.

“You’ve got something stuck to your back 'Hide!” Sideswipe made a show of walking around Ironhide, looking puzzled. He took several surreptitious image captures. “What are they?”

“As if ya don't know!” Ironhide scowled. “What ah want ta know is how ya did it?”

“I didn't do anything!”

The look Ironhide gave him was deeply suspicious. Sideswipe gave his best wounded innocence expression in return, all big blue optics and field fuzzy with confusion, after all he wasn't the only prankster on the base. Ironhide’s snort told him that his former caretaker was not buying it.

“Fine, ah can't prove anythin’.” He couldn’t of course, and he and Sideswipe both knew it. “But ya can at least help me remove these fraggin’ bells!”

Sideswipe didn’t smirk, but he knew his field gave him away.


	4. While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks By Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks By Night. I know I've technically done this one yesterday, but they are different songs - honest!
> 
> The tune most people know for this one is the Winchester Processional which is a bit slow and stodgy IMHO. I think the best tune to sing it to is Cranbourne - Better known as On Ilkley Moor Bah'tat. Makes me smile every time.
> 
> Mirage doesn't like Earth weather - although just sometimes...

_While shepherds watched their flocks by night  
All seated on the ground  
The angel of the lord came down  
And glory shone around_

It was raining again. It was the rainy season on this planet, but Mirage didn't have to like it. Sometimes the temperature dipped low enough that the rain froze. It was fine when the rain became snow, but he didn't enjoy the hail. The tiny balls of ice didn't hurt, but the bigger ones left irritating scratches on his plating.

Worse than the hail was the muddy slush, or just puddles of dirty water across the road surface. Some of the bigger roads had piles of salt spread across them which added an itchy, sticky dimension to driving. Mechs were starting to tease him about the amount of time he spent in the wash racks, but his alt-mode was so low to the ground that the muddy, oily, salty surface water got right where it shouldn't.

Mirage hated patrols in this weather, and tended not to leave the ship unless he absolutely had to.

“Hey, 'Raj? Do you want to see something amazing?”

Mirage put down his data pad and looked up at his friend. Hound was smiling, expression open and excited. Mirage's lips quirked up into a tiny smile as well.

“Depends... what is it?”

“Well.” Hound looked down bashfully. “It's kind of a time sensitive thing.”

Intriguing certainly. Despite knowing that Hound was also Special Operations, and therefore incredibly sneaky and manipulative under the open and friendly exterior he showed to his fellow Autobots, Mirage allowed himself to show a little bit of interest.

“So what is it?”

“Well...umm...Look it’s easier to show than tell, come on.” Hound seized his wrist, grip careful, but calculated so that Mirage would have to work very hard to break away. The bigger mech began towing him towards the door to his quarters. Mirage dug his heels in out of habit, and Hound turned an expression of wounded hurt on him. “Trust me, come on.”

Mirage allowed himself to be tugged down the corridor, but baulked again when Hound started trying to drag him outside. The rain was falling in a hazy curtain. Mirage had once heard this fine, soaking rain described as “mizzle”, a word he considered apt.

“Please 'Raj!” Big blue optics looked at him wistfully. It was horrible and cold and wet outside, but Mirage was not proof against that look.

“Fine, let's go!” He stopped resisting, allowing Hound to tug him forward and into the rain. 

Ugh.

He even forbore to complain about the drive, or the fact that it ended up a rough track by a field full of quadrupedal ruminants. Sheep, his cultural downloads reminded him. The silly creatures stampeded madly away when Hound transformed and stood, quivering, at the other end of the field. At least the rain was easing.

“I’d suggest we sit, but…well, I guess you won't want to.”

“No, not really.” Mirage glanced around. “It is a bit wet.”

Hound chuckled, then nudged his shoulder. “Look!” He pointed to the horizon where slanted shafts of afternoon sunlight were cutting through the haze of rain. A multicolour refracted semicircle was forming, with a fainter reflection above and below it. “A triple rainbow. Isn't it pretty.”

It was, Mirage had to concede, almost pretty enough to make up for the discomfort of the drive. Not that he would spoil his closest friend’s happiness by saying so, so he let his field mesh gently with Hound’s, reflecting how impressed he was. At least the drive back would be drier.


	5. Sound Sound Your Instruments of Joy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Possibly 18th century, possibly Cornish this is a great hymn which was recorded by the British traditional group The Watersons in the 1970's. Lots of harmonies in this one!
> 
> Thundercracker is the "quiet" seeker.

_Sound, Sound your instruments of Joy  
To triumph shake each string  
Let sounds of universal joy  
Welcome him, the newborn king_

Everyone thought of Thundercracker as the quiet seeker. But quiet was a relative term as Soundwave well knew.

Starscream was noisy, announcing his presence loudly, putting effort into shrieking histrionics, storming around with his engine whining in irritation. Until suddenly he wasn't, the mech could move like a phantom when he wanted to.

Skywarp was noisy too, full of jokes and laughter, leaving a rattling implosion behind him when he teleported. But he too could be quiet when the mood took him. Usually just before he shoved some unsuspecting grounder down a flight of steps, or when he was hiding from the wrath of his latest victim.

By contrast Thundercracker seldom spoke, seldom laughed and followed quietly in the wake of his trine mates. Big though he was it was easy to overlook him. The quiet seeker. Even his processor was calm and ordered.

Except Thundercracker was anything but quiet. Bigger than Skywarp and Starscream his tread was heavy and his engine emitted a growling hum even when he was at rest. In a faction of mechs with powerful engines Thundercracker had something unusual because his was never quiet, even when the mech was in stasis his engine thrummed audibly.

Soundwave wondered how any mech could fail to notice the blue seeker.


	6. Silent Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a recognisable carol. Only written in 1818 (thank you Wikipedia), lots and lots of singers (and instrumentalists) have recorded it. 
> 
> This is a vignette companion piece to Sound Sound Your Instruments of Joy. It seemed to fit somehow.

_Silent night, holy night  
All is calm, all is bright  
Round yon virgin mother and child  
Holy infant so meak and mild  
Sleep in heavenly peace, sleep in heavenly peace_

Soundwave was an oasis of silence in an otherwise noisy faction, and more noticeable for that. His engine ran silent, and not for him the squeak and groan of poorly maintained joints. He spoke seldom, but nobody would forget he was in the room. A silent presence at Megatron's shoulder.

Thundercracker, like the rest of the Decepticons, watched him with equal parts fear and respect. Soundwave was a mech who other mechs talked to, told things to. Sometimes those things would have been better left unsaid.

The seeker quite enjoyed the quiet third cycle shifts with Soundwave despite the natural trepidation. Most of the rest of the faction were in their berths, or hiding, or plotting in their own quarters. The bridge was silent apart from the gentle hum of the ship’s systems. Megatron was usually holed up in his office at one end of the ship, and Starscream was normally camped out in his lab, far, far away at the other end. Blissful peace reigned.

Thundercracker watched the monitors, engines humming idly, enjoying the lack of noise. It felt so good to relax without having to worry about his fellow Decepticons talking to him, or shouting at him, or (in Skywarp’s case) making excited burbling noises over his latest enthusiasm. The silence wrapped around him like a glove.

Soundwave might be silent and intimidating, but in this moment Thundercracker couldn’t care less.


	7. The Holly Tree and the Ivy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I always think this is a really pagan carol. It is classified as a "traditional folk carol". It has lots of different tunes, and the lyrics were first noted in a book of songs in Birmingham.
> 
> Megatron is in charge - always!

_The holly tree and the ivy  
When they are both full grown  
Of all the trees that are in the wood  
The holly tree wears the crown_

Megatron had come back from almost certain deactivation more times than most Decepticons could count (four thousand five hundred and eighty six as Starscream pointed out, although Hook disagreed because on at least forty eight of those occasions their leader had barely been scratched, and on four hundred and twenty one he had simply been missing).

It didn't really matter what the latest idiot to attempt a coupe did (Starscream - with a new weapon'o’doom), or how carefully the plan was prepared (Starscream - stashing said weapon in the vents above Megatron's quarters), or even how many mechs were in on it (the Constructicons - but carefully set up to look like it was Starscream), it never worked (Megatron 1 - Starscream 0).

If he was honest, Megatron rather enjoyed it (Something about the expression of thwarted rage on Starscream’s face). It kept him sharp, particularly as the war had been at a stalemate for vorns. 

So when the latest plot burst onto the scene, and Megatron scrambled out of the wreckage (collapsing a cave - really? He was a miner for Primus’ sake!) it was the work of astroseconds to identify the culprits (the unlikely combination of Motormaster and Starscream this time), knock their helms together and drag both back to base (loudly protesting their innocence, naturally).

When he had thrown both in the brig, assured Soundwave he was alright and waved off a fussing Hook (those dents were fine where they were thank you), he settled back in his quarters with a full cube of high grade. The Decepticons as a faction might be predictable in their treachery, but a warlord as supremely cunning as Megatron could turn the situation to his advantage.

He pinged the door to open when the access request hit his comm.

“Here you are boss.” Rumble (or Frenzy - the two had repainted themselves again) said as he unloaded the seventeen high grade cubes from his subspace. “Your winnings.” He grinned impishly. “Fifteen clicks has gotta be a record for that sorta plot!”

Megatron just grunted, dismissing the cassetticon with a wave. Frenzy (Rumble?) skipped out of the room, and Megatron locked the door behind him. As he started to put the cubes away behind the loose panel above his berth he permitted himself a triumphant smirk.

No-one could succeed against the mech who ran the betting pool after all.


	8. Adam Lay Ybounden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of the few songs about Adam and Eve, or Adam at least. Possibly a loose definition of a "carol", but it is frequently sung during the Kings Collage Nine Lessons and Carols before the second lesson. The lyrics are from the 15th century, which explains the interesting spelling. 
> 
> The classical group Medieval Baebes to a version of this too.
> 
> Starscream is in the brig again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one could be linked to the previous one, but I think it is more an AU version. I like the idea of Starscream and Soundwave protecting a Megatron who is a bit oblivious.

_Adam lay ybounden  
Bounden in a bond  
Four thousand winters  
Though he not too long_

Another cycle, another spell in the brig Starscream thought sourly. It would perhaps be fairer to say 'another cycle, another plan gone wrong.’

Except it hadn't. He was Starscream, he didn't make plans that didn't work exactly as he wanted them to.

He was, after all a genius.

Where the dullards of the Autobots, and even a few of his own faction, saw him as a screaming, inept traitor, the truth was far more subtle. So subtle he barely considered it any more. Sitting in the brig with nothing to do encouraged introspection - which was rather the point.

Starscream thought in order to keep the walls from closing in. Locking up a flier underground was known as a cruel, although effective punishment. How cruel depended on the flier. By this point in the war Starscream had become something of a connoisseur of prison cells. From the forbidding high security ones favoured by the Decepticons to the tiny cramped ones belonging to the few bounty hunters brave, or stupid, enough to take him on and the laughably unsecure cells still used by the Autobots. Starscream had seen, and escaped from them all.

Being the Decepticons resident traitor had very few perks, but the spells in the brig gave him plenty of time to think, and plan, and invent. In the past four jours he had come up with two potential modifications for his targeting software, an upgrade for Skywarp's warp drive, and a plan to catch Skywarp so he could perform the upgrade. The latter could easily be modified to catch Skywarp and stop him from playing a juvenile prank on someone unsuitable.

His most recent take over attempt (number 8,732) had been concocted on the fly to warn off a surprisingly subtle plot by Hook and Scrapper. Witnessing first hand Starscream's punishment AND having to repair him afterwards had put the Constructicons off. The fact that he had neatly sabotaged their doomsday machine was simply the sprinkles on the energon jelly. Soundwave would take care of the plans for the device in his own way.

Megatron would never hear about the danger he had been in from Starscream, which was exactly what he wanted. Megatron was direct and blunt, the careful power plays required of a leader escaped him entirely leaving his second and third in command to protect his flank. Megatron (even if he didn't appreciate it) needed Starscream to be the traitor everyone could see coming so the punishment for that treachery could be equally visible.

If, in his inept flailing, Starscream accidentally stabbed the real traitor in the optic having missed Megatron's back... well, these things happen. Starscream was clearly not competent enough to have done so deliberately. Too bad, so sad, let's keep the treachery to a minimum for the time being because we’ve seen what happens to traitors!

So he just had to wait. Megatron had to punish him, and had to be seen to be punishing him, but in the end he would be released and return to his place at Megatron's side, the most loyal of Decepticons. After all, if he wanted Megatron deactivated he would accomplish it easily enough. But not today.


	9. Gaudete

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A carol in Latin (I like Latin songs), probably 16th century in origin. Steeleye Span (British Folk Rock group in the 1970's) got to number 14 in the UK charts with this song in 1973. 
> 
> Another Deception AU - Sunstorm gets comforted after a trip to the medbay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For everyone who has clicked this randomly and hasn't read Another Deception a quick precis:
> 
> When the war ended it turned out that a number of the seekers taken into custody were very young (child soldier territory) so opted to assign them caretakers to help them adjust. Sunstorm is the youngest of the seekers and, although upgraded to an adult, is only about ten. 
> 
> Hopefully this is enough that you won't be left completely bewildered by this fic!

_Gaudete, gaudete,  
Christus est natus  
Ex Maria virgine,   
Gaudete_

The big servo petting his helm sent a thrill through him. Awe, pleasure and happiness all at once. Optimus was warm, and calm, and kind to him. Even though he was a Decepticon, even though he was really only a sparkling (or so Ratchet said). The Prime would willingly give up his time and attention to Sunstorm when he was upset.

It made his spark tingle with joy.

He knew it made his trine mates nervous. Acid Storm would get that expression on his face, the one which said he was angry, but without a target to direct his ire at, and Icestorm would just hold him tight and nuzzle his helm in a slightly desperate way with his field tense, and frightened.

He didn't like it when his trine were worried about him, it had taken them long enough to accept that Ratchet was looking after him well. He wouldn't mention how the Prime made him feel when he talked to them. He didn't want upset them, and they didn't like the Prime.

The Prime obviously felt something in his field, because he shifted slightly to look at him.

“Are you feeling better Sunny?” Sunstorm’s spark soared at the clear concern in the Prime’s voice, rejoicing again that such a great, and noble mech would pay him so much attention. He tipped his face up to meet the Prime's optics.

“Yeah.” There was more he wanted to say, but the words stuck in his vocaliser. He had been trying so hard to be good, and cooperative when Ratchet had been checking his spark damper earlier, but it had terrified him, and afterwards he had been unable to stop his panicked sobs. Ratchet had tried to comfort him, but he had cringed away, despite knowing the medic wouldn’t hurt him, then the Prime had scooped him up, and offered to take him back to Ratchet's quarters, and sat holding with him while he calmed. 

“Good.” The blue optics that looked down at him were wise and kind, and Sunstorm uttered a silent prayer of thanks to Primus for his goodness. “Ratchet is on his way back.” Sunstorm kept his disappointment that his time with the Prime was almost over to himself as Optimus allowed him to sit up.


	10. God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another old (16th century) carol. This is the one at the start of A Christmas Carol, where Scrooge chases the singer off (Humbug!). This is partly inspired by an ASMR back tracing video which I watched directly after listening to the song.
> 
> Mirage returns from a mission, Jazz helps bring him back down to earth. Possible to see a bit of Mirage/Jazz if you squint.

God rest ye merry, gentlemen  
Let nothing you dismay  
Remember Christ our saviour  
Was born upon this day

Mirage gave his verbal report to the Prime and his second and third in command. He was deeply uncomfortable with the three of them looking at him, but he hid his discomfort under his vorns of training. He wouldn't cringe or try to hide, instead he kept his back ramrod straight and his field tucked close, providing clipped, concise responses to the questions of his superiors.

He didn't miss the way the Prime’s optics flicked between him and Jazz, but the head of Special Operations didn't react, visor dimmed with concentration.

Finally, finally the Prime thanked him, indicating he was dismissed. He saluted the three officers, performing a smart about-face and was moving towards the door when the Jazz’s lazy drawl halted him.

“Hold up 'Raj. I’ll walk y’back.” 

He could practically feel Jazz’s gaze on the back of his helm, but he refused to duck away, instead he turned slowly to meet it. Jazz was smiling as he stood, but the smile was sharp and dangerous. The Prime was looking between them again, but apparently saw nothing to concern him because he simply nodded and turned to Prowl.

Jazz took him by the shoulder as they left the office. To the uninitiated the pose looked friendly, but Mirage knew better. Jazz was not giving him any choice in where they were going and he resigned himself to his fate. He would far prefer to go back to his quarters and hide himself away, but his superior was removing that option.

Jazz was steering him towards the set of quarters used by Special Operations mechs returning from hard missions. Mirage didn't think what he had been doing qualified him for the undivided attention of one of the most dangerous Cybertronians on either side of the war, but Jazz clearly disagreed. He tried not to flinch when they rounded the corner to see both twins coming the other way, electro-disruptor humming as he unconsciously fed power to it. Jazz clearly felt something in his field because his digits tightened in silent warning.

They reached their destination blessedly quickly, and Jazz ushered him through the door, and into the empty room beyond. Jazz let go of his shoulder, turning to lock the door, and Mirage was finally able to activate the electro-disruptor, shimmering out of view as his commander turned back.

“'Raj!” Jazz’s voice was equal parts annoyed and understanding, but Mirage didn't deactivate the device. He had had enough mechs looking at him since he got back to base. He had got used to hiding during the mission and his still active protocols were telling him that this was safer. “Y’c’n have a jour t’get y’head t’gether, then y’turn tha’ thing off’n I’ll take it off y’. ‘K?”

He didn't respond, moving silently to press his back against the far wall, allowing him the best view of the room. He tried to do as Jazz had ordered, but a jour was nowhere near enough time to quiet the clamouring programs insisting that being seen was a danger.

“Y’gonna turn tha’ off?” Jazz asked, visor turning to pinpoint his position with uncanny accuracy. “Or am I gonna hafta make ya?” Mirage knew Jazz could see him. The visor was packed with all sorts of useful tricks, but his programming insisted he was invisible.

He tried, but the protocols running were too strong. He retained enough sense not to swipe at Jazz when the saboteur reached for him, but he still jerked away. Jazz caught his servos, slapping a set of stasis cuffs on him, before reaching up and carefully detaching the disruptor.

“Tha's better.” Jazz gave another knife-like smile, the disruptor disappearing into his subspace. He reached for Mirage, who pulled back, still stuck within his own programming. “Come'ere 'Raj.” Mirage was pulled to the berth and settled on the soft surface. Jazz kept him there with a gentle pressure on his chest, just above his spark. “Jus’ relax. Y’know I’m not gonna hurt y’.”

Jazz slid down the berth to his peds, lifting them into his lap and starting to work slender digits into the delicate joints, stroking and massaging tense cables. It sent shivers of sensation up his legs, helping quiet the clamouring programs. 

Jazz’s servos slid up his slender calves, sliding around axels and into wheelwells and under the plating of his knees, relaxing him further. Gentle pressure made his clamped armour plates loosen and skitters of pleasant sensation slide across his neural net.

By the time Jazz was working under his jaw and up to his faceplates the programs were back to a background whisper and he sighed in pleasure.

“Y’back wi’ me 'Raj?” Jazz asked, petting his helm, before reaching down to deactivate the cuffs.

“Yes.” The spy agreed, sleepy now that he was recovering. “Thank you Jazz.”

“Y’welcome.” He felt rather than saw his commander smile. “Y’wanna stay t’night?” He snuggled into Mirage's side, a warm, comfortable weight beside him.

“Yeah.” Mirage turned his helm, nuzzling Jazz's helm and offlining his optics.


	11. Lullay My Liking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Half carol, half lullaby this is a fifteenth century one (if you haven't guessed I like my carols old). This one is such a sweet song, with lots of interpretations by many composers.
> 
> Another Deception AU - Skywarp is NOT tired!

_Lullay my liking  
My dear son my sweeting  
Lullay my dear heart  
My own dear darling_

Skywarp’s optics flickered with lack of recharge and Ironhide took a sideways glance at him. Skywarp caught his look and straightened, trying to appear alert. Skywarp's stubborn refusal to shut down seemed to be a new way of testing his caretaker. 

“Ya sure ya not tired?” Ironhide asked for the sixth time. Skywarp shook his helm. “Okay.”

Skywarp had expressed his displeasure at being ordered to recharge like a sparkling. Ironhide suspected something else lay behind the young mech's announcement, probably a plan for a prank so he had shrugged, agreed, and was now frustrating whatever scheme Skywarp was hoping to set in motion.

No mech who had dealt with a young Sideswipe on a regular basis would be fooled after all.

Crimson optics dulled back to garnet, then brightened again as Skywarp found himself slumping against the cushions. Ironhide suppressed a chuckle at the suspicious glare he received.

“M’not tired!”

“Ah didn't say ya were.”

“M’not.” He forced his optics to reboot and straightened again. Ironhide was confident that he could outlast the seeker. High performance flight frames required more downtime than ones built for steady endurance. Ironhide rumbled his engine soothingly, hoping to encourage Skywarp to slip into recharge.

It worked as the young seeker slumped back again, fighting a loosing battle. His engine was dropping into the steady idling pitch and it was obviously becoming a real effort for him to keep his optics online. Ironhide put down his data pad and stood, bending to scoop Skywarp up.

“M’not tired.” Skywarp shifted slightly, but his frame remained lax in Ironhide's grip.

“Ah know, but ya gonna be more comfortable in ya berth.” He carried the young mech carefully to his room and settled him gently on the berth. Skywarp unconsciously snuggled into the pillows as Ironhide tucked the thermal blanket around him. The red optics flickered again before powering down. Ironhide chuckled softly, looking at the now recharging seeker. “'Course ya not tired kiddo.” He gave Skywarp's helm a quick pat and headed for the door, dimming the light as he left.


	12. The Boar's Head Carol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A 14th century macaronic (i.e. in two languages) carol and another somewhat pagan one. It used to be a tradition to serve a boar's head as part of the Christmas feast, some institutions in the English speaking world still do so. This carol is sung to salute the dish. 
> 
> I love the idea of singing to your food!
> 
> Another Deception - The Rust Stick incident!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little explanation for the uninitiated - AD Ratchet is a keen amateur chemist who makes treats, most of which he uses to tame fractious patients.
> 
> Lots of mechs like the treats, but don't want to bother making them, and Ratchet is good at controlling the supply. Some mechs use...less orthodox...methods to get hold of them.

_The boars head in hand bear I,  
Bedecked with bay and rosemary,  
And I pray you my masters be merry,  
Quot estis in convivio_

Ratchet enjoyed chemistry as a way to wind down after a hard day in the medbay. Not in a Wheeljack-esque 'I wonder what happens if … BOOM … where are my digits?’ way, but the soothing repetition of measuring, mixing, heating and cooling. Controlled, in the way that his work as a medic in the middle of a war was not.

Creating treats was a natural progression. As head medic in an army where most the troops still saw themselves as civilians first, soldiers second, he had been forced to develop some less than conventional patient wrangling methods.

After a bad shift on duty Ratchet usually found himself left with far more treats than he could ever hope to eat by himself. When Hoist had asked him for some to try and corral Bluestreak, who had been young and terrified of seeing a medic Ratchet had realised that they could be usefully applied to make his job, dealing with his own unruly patients, easier.

He started handing out rust sticks, one of his favourite reactions, to his best behaved patients. To his surprise it worked, mechs who had previously attempted to avoid mandatory check-ups, or who had been terrible patients when injured, suddenly became compliant when the rare treats were on offer.

Not giving them to everyone had its downside of course. Like now.

“Care to explain what you are doing Sideswipe?” He heard the scuffling behind him, as one of the other miscreants ran. It didn't matter, Sideswipe would tell him who else was involved... eventually.

“Um...Hi Ratch’. Sideswipe attempted a carefree smile, although it came across a little strained. “Any chance of some help. I seem to be a bit stuck…”

Ratchet gave his favourite troublemaker a nasty smile. The mech had literally been caught with his servo in the treats. Any story he came up with to explain this was bound to be vastly entertaining.


	13. The Coventry Carol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING  
> This one contains the aftermath of bombs being dropped on civilians and implied child (and adult) death. Please consider your headspace and personal taste before reading this.
> 
> The Coventry Carol is part of the 16th century Mystery Play from the city of Coventry called "The Pagaent of the Shearman and the Tailors" The carol itself is sung by three mothers during the Massacre of the Innocents. It is quite a harrowing song.
> 
> Another Deception - The Bombing of Vos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually wrote this one a while ago, and thought it would be appropriate for Friday the 13th. I did consider swapping this for a lighter one, but it was a story I wanted to tell. 
> 
> In Another Deception Starscream has a severed servo that he keeps in a box. This is why and how he got it.

_Herod the king, in his raging,  
Charged he hath this day,  
His men of might, in his own sight,  
All young children to slay._

The first rumbles had woken all the sparklings. From his own crib Starscream could see his creator rushing around the berths, trying to comfort them. His creator felt worried, and that made him raise his own voice in the general clamour.

“Shush, Star, shush, go back to recharge sweetspark.” His creator laid a gentle servo on his helm, stroking him. Starscream could feel his agitation, and didn't want to lie back down. A last caress, and the mech was hurrying to Thundercracker's berth, picking the fractious sparkling up and putting him with Starscream. Starscream chirped at the blue sparkling as a much louder crash sounded. Starscream could feel fear across his creation bond.

Suddenly everything exploded into noise and dust and violence. Starscream howled in fear, and Thundercracker screamed as the berth shook and tipped. Walls cracked with a terrifying boom, and metal beams warped and twisted with a horrible screech. He heard his creator cry out in pain and fear, then his creation bond went suddenly silent, as though it had been abruptly turned off. 

As the dust cleared Starscream could see his creator lying on the floor, covered in debris. Sluggish trickles of energon streaked the floor under him, and the air was full of the scent of processed energon. From somewhere close by another sparkling was screaming, but there was another boom and the walls slumped further. The screams were suddenly silenced.

There was a pained whimpering from somewhere else, and ragged, panting ventilations which eventually shuddered to a halt, but Starscream kept screaming. He kept screaming until the debris above his crib were moved away jours later.

“Primus this was a crèche.”

“Frag, whose?” 

“Solarshot I think. Looks like we’ve got one...no two live sparklings here. This beam prevented them from being crushed.”

“Primus!” One of the seekers lifted Thundercracker out of the crib and handed him to another mech, then reached for Starscream. “This little one has a powerful vocaliser.” Starscream struggled against the gentle hold, squirming to reach for his creator, bond still eerily silent. “I think that is Solarshot down there.”

“That is his creation. Starscream I think.” Hearing his name the sparkling quieted, looking up at the adult. Then he began wriggling and fighting to get back to his creator. “Shush, shush little one, it’s alright.”

“Try and get some plating Bolt. We need it for formal identification. It looks like one of his servos is missing, see if you can find it. That will do for a start.”

The mech holding him lifted him up and away, and Starscream screamed until his vocaliser gave out in a crackle of static.


	14. In The Bleak Midwinter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another introspective one I'm afraid.
> 
> In The Bleak Midwinter was a poem by Christana Rosetti (sister of Dante Gabrial Rosetti). Holst set it to music in 1906, and Harold Darke composed a tune in 1909. The Darke version was apparently voted the best Christmas carol in 2008 by leading choirmasters and other similar experts. 
> 
> Another Deception - Icestorm feels the cold.

_In the bleak midwinter  
Frosty wind made moan  
Earth was hard as iron  
Water like a stone_

It was cold in the Autobot brig. Thick walls and a heavily shielded roof prevented break outs, or break ins. There were still Decepticons out there, off Cybertron, who would restart the war in a click, orders or not. 

Icestorm was used to the cold. His internal temperature ran considerably lower than most mechs of his frametype. His creators had told him how he had almost died as a sparkling because he couldn’t be kept warm enough to prevent his spark dissipating. His creators had also told him of the daring escape from the hospital with him, helped by a Vosian medical aide, when the Autobot enforcers had tried to snatch him. It had been one of his favourite stories as a youngling. He regretted not telling his little trine mate the story. Sunstorm was wrapped around him, trying to warm him up.

The Autobots had attached a damper to the heat sink around his spark. The heat sink kept his spark warm enough not to dissipate, the damper prevented his weapons system from supercooling gaseous nitrogen from his intakes as an additional weapon that would freeze armour and make it as brittle as glass. A quick blast of that would render the circuitry keeping the energy bars in place non functional.

The medic, Ratchet, had insisted he was given a thermal blanket as well, he would never tell the Autobots that he was grateful for the consideration, but he was. 

Sunstorm curled in closer, digits clutching at his armour. In contrast to his own cooler temperature Sunstorm ran a few degrees warmer than average. Being allowed to spend time with his trine mate was another Autobot consideration that he was reluctantly grateful for. The young mech was wrapped around him like a second blanket, a warm and comforting weight.

The speaker crackled into life, the mech at the other end warning them that Sunstorm would have to leave soon and Icestorm sighed. Sunstorm sat up, pulling away and giving him a sad smile and Icestorm’s plating suddenly felt far, far colder than it had done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When it was very cold a few years ago, and a lot of UK airports were shut I heard this alternative version on the radio:
> 
> Snow had fallen, snow on snow  
> Snow on snow  
> In the bleak midwinter  
> Chaos at Heathrow
> 
> I think it is attributed to the satirical radio program The Now Show. 
> 
> Icestorm as a character does not exist in the G1 continuity. The seeker I always thought was called Icestorm is actually Nova Storm, or possibly Ion Storm. Having now read a lot of fanfic I'm not the only person who calls the third member of Acid Storm's trine Icestorm.


	15. Hark! The Herald Angels Sing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a Charles Wesley carol from 1739 with music adapted from a tune by Mendlessohn in the 1850's. Apparently Wesley had a different tune originally which fell into disuse.
> 
> Musings on the divine - it seemed appropriate.

_Hark! The herald angels sing,  
Glory to the newborn king,  
Peace on Earth and mercy mild,  
God and sinners reconciled_

Prowl didn’t understand. He tried, but the whole idea of the Matrix of Leadership as a direct conduit to Primus was just... not logical. The Prime didn't blame him, the mech’s processor was set up to handle facts and draw conclusions, not ponder the metaphysical.

Ratchet didn't believe. He was a mech who did things rather than passively wringing his servo’s, praying. He would save the lives he could, and try harder for the ones he couldn't. He only used Primus’ name as a shorthand expletive, and then only because it told those around him that he was angry. The Prime understood, Ratchet didn't believe, and it stopped him feeling helpless.

Ironhide didn't reconcile the mech he had known before the Matrix with the mech Optimus had become. He didn't see the difference, only the similarity. The Prime was grateful, one mech at least would treat him like a real person, and he didn't want to harm their friendship.

Jazz didn't care that he was the Prime. The mech had seen Primes come and go and most had not wanted to look too closely at the dark things he had to do to protect the mech carrying the Matrix. The Prime accepted it, and gave the spy space to work, even if he didn't like it. Mech’s who could protect him were a precious commodity.

Red Alert didn't like how exposed the Matrix left him. The security director’s paranoia was risible, and the butt of numerous jokes, but he was correct about the threats facing them more often than not, and very good at his job. The Prime got great satisfaction from protecting him, the mech did so much it was only fair he received something in return.

Optimus wasn't worried by their lack of faith in the relic in his chest, or their stubborn belief that he needed them to look after him. Sometimes he wasn't sure of his own relationship with their distant deity, but he could at least hold firm to his friends.


	16. Nowell Sing We Clear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is alternatively titled Masters In This Hall. The tune is French and the lyrics are English by William Morris (The one who did all those textile and wallpaper designs) in the 1860's. It sounds older though. Maddy Prior and the Carnival Band recorded a version which is my favourite.
> 
> Megatron appeals to the masses.

_Nowell, nowell, nowell, Nowell sing we clear,  
Holpen all are folk on Earth born is god’s son so dear,  
Nowell nowell nowell, Nowell sing we loud,  
God today hath poor folk raised and hath casted down the proud_

The audience roared their appreciation. Megatron’s opponent was down for the count, missing an arm and a leg and covered in energon, but not deactivated. Gladiators were a precious resource to the pit-masters, deactivations were rare. 

There was energon everywhere, sprayed liberally across the metal floor, glowing droplets scattered everywhere. Megatron stood amid the gore, raising his servos for silence.

This was a carefully prepared and rehearsed victory. He was the darling of the arena, and intended to use that to his advantage. The crowd quieted, held by his sheer presence, and the low, droning hum of expectation buzzed through the space. Megatron lowered his servos.

“My fellow Cybertronians.” His voice echoed through the packed space, courtesy of the clever little amplifier tucked into his collar faring. “My friends. I have spilt energon today. Energon that runs freely in the arenas. I am a gladiator, my role, according to our glorious leaders, is to bleed for the entertainment of my fellow mechs.” He added a sneer to ‘glorious’, face twisting exaggeratedly into an expression of disgusted contempt.

The crowd murmured, carefully placed stooges helping to agitate those around them. 

“Many mechs bleed on Cybertron to keep our leaders in comfort, while those of us on the lower rungs must fight for the scraps from their high tables. But not for much longer.” He paused, feeling the excitement of the crowd. This was just going to be a short speech, the crowd were hungry for violence, not political rhetoric. “My friends, soon the poor mechs will transform and rise up to sweep away those that oppress us!” He paused again as the crowd hummed dangerously, like an overstressed generator. “Transform, and RISE UP!”

He bellowed the last words and the crowd roared them back to him.

“TRANSFORM, AND RISE UP!”


	17. Shepherds Arise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A West Gallery carol from Dorset. It was recorded in 1951 by the Copper Family (noted singers of the English tradition) and is one of their best known songs. The version sung by the Coppers has been recorded by a large number of traditional musicians, and is a staple of Christmas folk music sessions.
> 
> Sideswipe thinks about his brother.

_Sing sing all Earth  
Sing sing all Earth eternal praises sing  
To our redeemer  
And our heavenly king_

Sideswipe knew that most mechs considered Sunstreaker to be one psychotic episode off going full Decepticon. He could see it in the wary way they held themselves around his twin, in the hard light in their optics and hear it in the suspicious tone of their voices.

Worse, he knew Sunstreaker could see it too, and that the mistrust, baiting and unpleasant comments were wearing on him, driving further into himself and re-enforcing the sharp prickly verbal armour he surrounded himself with, which only added fuel to the suspicion of his fellow Autobots.

It made Sideswipe want to break something, starting with some helms! The problem was that that too drove Sunstreaker further away from other mechs.

He just wished they could see his beautiful, smart, funny, talented twin the way he could. They saw the angry scowls, the cold demeanour, they just couldn’t look beyond that to how his rare smiles lit his whole face, or how carefully he cared for himself and his twin even in the middle of a war.

They saw silent sulking, and frequent trips to the brig, but they never saw how voraciously Sunstreaker devoured any literature he came across, how he had developed a fascination with Earth plays and how he studies the artwork of a hundred different cultures.

They saw rage, and sharp words, not the dry humour and warm laughter, or the way he helped Sideswipe play pranks to keep the spirits of their fellow Autobots up.

They saw the way he tore into the Decepticons on the battlefield, spattering energon everywhere, but they wouldn’t know how Sunstreaker tried to express his pain and rage through his art, or see the beautiful pictures that the golden twin produced.

He just wished the Autobots would look past their prejudices, preconceived ideas and hearsay and treat his twin like he mattered, like the brave warrior he was.


	18. In Dulci Jubilo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Most people know this song as "That Mike Oldfield tune". It is another macronic song, originally it was German and Latin, but it was translated by Robert Pearsall in 1837 with a tune by JS Bach. It is a more cheerful tune than some carols.
> 
> Another Deception - Sideswipe is not a suitable chaperone for a young, impressionable seeker.

_In dulci julibo let us our homage show  
Hearts joy reclineth In praesepio  
And like a bright start shineth matris in gremio  
Alpha es et O, alpha es et O._

Ratchet worried about Sunstorm. Young as he was he had never had the chance to play and learn the way a normal sparkling should. Most of his knowledge was either pre-programmed or related to how to be a soldier and obey orders. 

He was a serious young mech. Wary of angering Ratchet, or any Autobot, and very obedient. Ratchet was trying to help him understand that he could say no if he didn't want to do something, and that it would not result in anything bad happening. It was proving to be slow going.

It was therefore with some trepidation that he allowed Sunstorm to spend time in Sideswipe’s company.

Allowed was perhaps a strong word. Sideswipe had come to the lab just as Wheeljack was distracted with an experiment, and Perceptor had asked Sunstorm if he minded the red frontliner taking him back to Ratchet. Sunstorm had not objected (because of course he wouldn’t) so Perceptor had turned back to his own work with a little wave of farewell.

Technically there was no reason for Sideswipe not to be allowed to take charge of Sunstorm. Ironhide had already warned him about the consequences of hurting, or upsetting the young seeker, and officially the mech was a mature adult (that idea made Ratchet laugh when Ironhide had pointed it out).

Of course all this was overshadowed by the fact that Sideswipe had a mischievous streak several miles wide, and Sunstorm was far too innocent to spot it.

So when the two of them turned up in the medbay three jours later, covered in smears of grease, spatters of pink paint, and with Sideswipe sporting his patented “innocent” look Ratchet was not surprised.

Particularly as Cliffjumper and Gears had stormed in a jour before in search of vengeance, and paint remover.

“Someone seems to have set off a paint bomb in the sector two residential corridor.” Sideswipe informed him calmly. “It is still dripping a bit.” Ratchet glanced sideways at Sunstorm, who was looking worried.

“Do we know who it was?” He asked, tone light and conversational, internally he was preparing a blistering reprimand for the red idiot.

“No idea.” Which of course meant that Sideswipe had covered his tracks. Sunstorm squirmed uncomfortably beside him, but Sideswipe pretended not to see. Ratchet knew he would probably get the story from the young seeker with minimal digging. He didn’t really want Sunstorm to feel he had to confess though.

Ratchet hrumphed disbelievingly, and Sideswipe gave him a bland, innocent smile.

“Unfortunately if you were hoping for some cleanser to get rid of those paint spots I’m afraid Cliffjumper just took the last of it.” Sideswipe snorted, equally disbelieving and Ratchet just smiled. “Sorry.” His expression said he was anything but.

“Fine. I’ll get Sunny to scrub harder. See ya Ratch’, bye Sunstorm.” He bounced out, grinning and leaving Ratchet with a very nervous seeker.

“Are you alright?” Ratchet asked, expression softening. Sunstorn hung his helm, unmistakably guilty. “Sideswipe didn’t upset you?” 

“No.” Sunstorm wouldn’t meet his optics. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do it.” 

“Remember, you are allowed to say no if you don’t want to do something.” Ratchet reminded him. If anything the young mech looked more guilty.

“I’m sorry.” 

“Why? I’m not upset with you.”

“I wanted to do it.” Sunstorm confessed, squirming. “I wanted to see what would happen. I thought it would be funny. I’m sorry.”

Ratchet chuckled, wrapping him in a comforting hug. “And was it?” Sunstorm stiffened and Ratchet released him, tipping his chin up. “There is nothing wrong with a harmless prank you know. And I bet it was funny! I saw Cliffjumper afterwards remember.” The young mech looked so innocently confused that Ratchet pulled him close again.


	19. Ding Dong Merrily On High

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First published in 1924, but the tune is 16th century and the words are from the 18th. I always find myself gasping for breath in the chorus, I'm sure I'm not the only one.
> 
> Seekers on patrol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a pune, or play on words (to quote the late, great Terry Pratchett).
> 
> In the UK a Ding-Dong is another word for a fight!

_Ding dong merrily on high  
In heaven the bells are ringing  
Ding dong verily the sky  
Is riven with angels singing_

::Baby Shark, do do do doo doo doo::

::Shut UP Skywarp!::

::Baby Shark, do do do doo doo doo::

::Skywarp shut UP!::

::Baby Shark, do do do doo doo doo, Baby Shark::

::Skywarp, I swear to Primus if you do not shut up right now I will not be responsible for my actions!::

Thundercracker sighed quietly as the sound of his trine mates argument floated back and forth across the comm. He ran a quiet sub-routine, developed for the purpose that would warn him when Starscream’s tone started to suggest he was about to get physically violent.

A stand up (or in this case, mid-air) fight between his trine never ended well. Skywarp was bigger, heavier and was not averse from abusing his warp drive in order to win, but Starscream was faster, craftier, and a whole order of magnitude nastier.

The programme pinged as Starscream flipped into his root form, anti-gravs kicking in to keep him aloft. Skywarp transformed as well and the two faced off, switching from comms to a full verbal screaming match.

Thundercracker transformed and insinuated himself between the two combatants, pushing them apart. Predictably they both instantly turned on him and he rumbled his engine warningly, not prepared to allow them to attack.

“We have a patrol to finish.” He reminded them sternly, fixing Skywarp with a stern glare. The black seeker had instigated the fight after all. Starscream was radiating smugness that their usually neutral trine mate was taking his part. Thundercracker turned to glance at him. “Both of you stop winding each other up!”

“Both of you need to stop wasting time!” Starscream snapped, flipping back into his alt-mode and engaging his thrusters, roaring off. Skywarp gave Thundercracker a filthy look, transforming as well and chasing Starscream’s tailfins.

Thundercracker sighed. Starscream and Skywarp were now both going to be angry with him for jours, but it was better than the inevitable fallout if they kept arguing and missed the patrol check-in time.

The rest of the patrol was accomplished in blessed, although sulky, silence.


	20. Diadem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another with two titles, it is also known as All Hail The Power Of Jesus Name. Diadem is actually the name of the tune that a lot of people sing it to. This is another Sheffield Carol from 1779 this time. The tune has a very triumphal feel to it, it sounds good with a brass band backing it!
> 
> This is the flipside of Chapter 2, from Starscream's viewpoint this time.

_All hail the pow'r of Jesus' name!  
Let angels prostrate fall,  
Let angels prostrate fall;  
Bring forth the royal diadem,  
And crown Him, crown Him,  
Crown Him, crown Him,  
And crown Him, Lord of all._

Starscream was a good leader. Even Megatron would admit that, occasionally. 

Unlike Megatron he didn’t play favourites with those under his command, even his trine mates (no matter what Thrust insinuated). If Skywarp was caught doing something stupid, like setting off a small explosion which flooded three residential corridors, Starscream would hand him an appropriate penalty.

Equally if Ramjet started a fight in the Air Barracks (not an uncommon happening) Starscream would be right there to ensure that all the participants received a fair and proportionate punishment.

It might not make him popular, but the mechs under his command trusted him.

His superiors...not so much.

The Decepticon Air Force obeyed him. They might grumble and resent him, but they obeyed him. And in battle they would follow him.

Starscream tried not to leave his mech’s behind. It wasn’t considered to be a very “Decepticon” thing to do, and certainly Megatron frowned (well, scowled and shouted) on rescuing mechs who were unable to make their own way back to base. Starscream didn’t like the waste of resources if the mech offlined, or the inevitable trading with the Autobots that would occur if they were captured. Far easier and more sensible to detail one or two mechs to help their injured comrade.

It helped that he was a tactical genius, as well as a scientific one. Able to conjure plans out of the air, and change tactics on the fly. Mechs were used to trusting him to get them out of tough situations.

Starscream didn’t need Megatron’s grudging acceptance of his competence. Not when he could trust his fellow seekers to follow him.


	21. The First Noel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Warning* This is another one that features a young character being orphaned by war. Again I urge you to check your personal taste before reading this.
> 
> This is a famous one, from the Hymns Ancient and Modern collection (published in 1823), It comes from Cornwall, and it isn't clear when it was written but could be from the 1500's. I actually heard a choir singing this earlier today.
> 
> Another Deception - Ironhide effectively adopted Bluestreak when he was rescued from the ruins of Praxius.

_The first noel the angels did say  
Was to certain poor shepherds in fields where they lay  
In fields where they lay keeping their sheep  
On a cold winters night that was so deep_

Ironhide had pulled him out of the wreckage of his home. After the bombs had finished falling, and he had felt the bond with his creators fade and die. Ironhide had lifted him easily in one servo and clutched him close, lifting him away from the rubble.

Bluestreak had pressed his face into Ironhide’s chestplates and offlined his optics, frantically gripping his saviour. He hadn’t thought anyone was coming for him.

More servos reached for him and he gave a silent whimper, damaged vocaliser clicking, clutching his rescuer more tightly.

“Hey, hey, hey don’ grab!” He heard Ironhide say, and felt the arms around him tighten slightly. The reaching servos mercifully dropped away.

“Primus, he’s just a sparkling!” Someone exclaimed. “Bring him here ‘Hide, I’ll check him over.” He was carried further and felt the big mech sit himself down and start to encourage him to uncurl. “Have we found any others?” He felt Ironhide shake his helm.

He wasn’t co-operative, but the medic didn’t seem to mind and Ironhide just rumbled his engine soothingly, the way his own creator would have done. He just wanted his creator, but the bond wasn’t there and he felt cold.

Finally the medic finished and Ironhide tried to put him down. He held on tenaciously, and the big mech chuckled. “Ya don’ want ta let go kiddo? Ok, we’ll work ‘round tha’.”

Ironhide kept hold of him, boosting him up to sit higher on his arm, and rest his helm on the big mech’s shoulder. Bluestreak offlined his optics again, gripping one red pauldron tightly. He could hear Ironhide talking to other mechs, but he was tired, and allowed himself to sink into recharge.

He awoke jours later with a little chirp, to find himself strapped into a sparkling harness in a transport of some sort with his rescuer, and lots of other bots around him.

“Ya awake?” Ironhide asked gently. He nodded, still too overwhelmed to speak. “Ok, can ya speak?” He tried, but the words wouldn’t form. “Tha’s ok, ya don’ hafta talk if ya don’ want ta.” He shook his helm, after the terrifying silence of the past cycle he wanted to speak. “Ya let me know when ya ready kiddo.”

He let the gentle chatter of the mech’s around him wash over him, reassuring him. He heard mech’s asking how old he was, and pushing a cube of sweet energon into his servos. He could hear other adults talking, and one asked what was going to happen to him.

“He’ll hafta go to a neutral outpost. ‘S what we’ve hadda start doin’ with youngling refugees.” Bluestreak made a negative noise at Ironhide’s words, reaching for him with a free servo. Ironhide allowed the little digits to curl around his own, smiling down at him. “Sorry kiddo.”

“I think he’s the only youngling we found.” Someone to his left commented. “Might be better to take him back to base. He might have some kin on one of the other shuttles. Red says there’re about two hundred all told.”

“Primus!” Someone else breathed. Bluestreak held tighter to his rescuer. He didn’t want to leave this mech.

“Ratch’ just commed.” The medic who had checked him over said suddenly. “Change of plans, all refugees are being taken to Kholakur Base.” Suddenly all the mech’s were asking questions.

“Looks like ya gonna hafta stay with me for a while after all kiddo.” Ironhide murmured, smiling down at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy winter solstice everyone. It'll get lighter and brighter from here onwards!


	22. O Come All Ye Faithful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was originally a Latin carol ( _Adeste Fidalis_ ), it has been ascribed to several different authors between 1604 and 1786. It was translated by Fredrick Oakeley in 1841, and this is the version you hear most often.
> 
> Some pranks cause more trouble than others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first idea was for something about how everyone follows Optimus. Then I started writing and this...happened.
> 
> So...Yeah...

_O Come all Ye Faithful  
Joyful and triumphant  
O come ye, O come ye   
To Beathlem_

“So what have you got to say for yourselves?” Optimus steepled his servos and stared sternly at the miscreants.

“Um...Sorry?” (Bumblebee - clearly not sorry).

“I didn’t mean to.” (Bluestreak - possibly even true).

“It wasn’t me!” (Sideswipe - It obviously _was_ him).

“Humph!” (Sunstreaker - less a word, more a grunt).

Not an especially promising start, but...“Would anyone like to offer an explanation?” Optimus didn’t really hold out much hope of getting something intelligible, but he had to try.

“It was an accident!”

“Bee’s right.”

“Yup, and can I just say I had NOTHING to do with it!”

“Pah!”

Optimus didn’t bang his helm against the desk, but it was a close run thing.

“Talk me through what happened.” 

“Well…” Bumblebee started, and launched into an involved and convoluted explanation, assisted by Bluestreak, hindered by Sideswipe and punctuated by Sunstreaker’s grunts. By the end Optimus was none the wiser.

“Thank you. You will all report to Prowl who will decide what to do next.” There were groans from the four Autobots stood in front of his desk, but he silenced their protests with a Look (and one which fully deserved that capital letter).

The Prime nodded, dismissing the mechs who trouped out, shamefacedly. Now he was going to have to figure out how to remove all the information about Cybertronian mating practices from the humans internet. A quick check showed him that “hashtag - GiantRobotSmex” appeared to be trending on Twitter. He let his helm thunk against the desk.


	23. The Sussex Carol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another carol with an alternative title (On Christmas Night All Christians Sing) and a great tune. It was first recorded in the 17th century in a book called "A Small Garland of Pious and Godley Songs". The modern lyrics and tune were collected by the composer Ralph Vaughn Williams in 1919 from Horsham in Sussex (hence the name), but also collected by Cecil Sharpe (noted collector of English folksongs) in Gloucestershire at the same time.
> 
> Another Deception - The seekers of Vos join the Decepticons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who hasn't read Another Deception; Nacelle and Bitstream were slaves of Sentinel Prime. Because of this Nacelle particularly is bad with people. This takes place just after they escaped. 
> 
> Bitstream is a medic in AD and Nacelle is a sniper.

_Then why should men on earth be so sad  
Since our Redeemer made us glad  
When from our sin he set us free  
All for to gain our liberty?_

Nacelle was tense and trembling as mechs pressed around them. Bitstream carefully interposed his frame between the little knot of grounders ahead of them and his trine mate. Unlike the majority of the Cybertronians surrounding them their plating was thin and delicate, and their frames clearly suggested their function. They were here to join the new Decepticon faction. Neither mech really liked the idea but, as Bitstream had pointed out, they needed to be somewhere that they would be protected, and Vos was a long way away. 

Nacelle’s optics darted everywhere, wary of potential threats. A mech in the paint job of the Praxian enforcers made his spark flutter in fear. He drew Bitstream’s attention to the mech, who had his back to them, and his trine mate carefully moved them behind a couple of massive triple-changers. They were both aware of how obvious they were, and that Sentinel had already had their descriptions circulated to the enforcers. They would be unable to escape a second time.

Bitstream spotted the large group of Vosians first. They seemed to be keeping in a protective huddle. One of the closer seekers, a mid-purple mech with black and white accents beckoned them over. Bitstream nudged Nacelle who stared suspiciously at the seeker. 

“Should we talk to them?” Bitstream asked, equally cautious. He wanted to, but Nacelle could be unpredictable. He could see the gears turning, but the red and blue seeker dipped his chin fractionally in a nod. “Easier to hide in a crowd too.” They inched closer, optics still checking for hidden hazards.

“Hi, who are you?” The purple seeker gave them a quick smile. “I’m Hotlink. I’ve not seen you before have I?”

“Um…” Bitstream wasn’t sure how to answer the questions. He was wary of revealing either of their designations. Beside him Nacelle had stiffened, Bitstream could tell he was thinking of relocating far away from this inquisitive seeker. “We’ve not been to Vos for a while.”

Hotlink frowned in confusion. “Wha…? Frag, don’t you…? I mean.... Vos…” He looked around for help and both seekers drew back from the sudden attention they were receiving. There were mutters, and cursing, and the odd, smothered, sob.

“Vos...Vos is gone.” A grey seeker cut in, face and field sorrowful.

“Gone?” Nacelle’s voice quavered. “How?”

“The Prime!” Bitstream thought he hated the Prime, but the sheer venom in the other mech’s voice took him aback. “That is why we are here. We are all that is left of Vos. We want revenge!”


	24. Tomorrow Shall Be My Dancing Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This carol was first published in 1833, but it is suspected to be much older, possibly from a 14th century mystery play like the Coventry Carol. It is also a carol for all seasons because the lyrics span the whole of Jesus' life, not just the Nativity.
> 
> Jazz is always dancing. Prowl doesn't dance.

_Tomorrow shall be my dancing day  
I would my true love did so chance  
To see the legend of my play  
To call my true love to my dance_

Jazz could turn a brisk walk down a corridor into a song and dance routine. He would skip, and turn, perform side slips and shimmy his way along.

It drove Prowl mad.

Jazz, of course, accompanied his dancing with snatches of songs and tunes. Not just Cybertronian ones either. The mech was a magpie for picking up scraps from other cultures.

Just currently he was doing some sort of fluid backwards walk, giving the impression that he was coming towards Prowl, but actually moving away from him. He spun and posed briefly, digits splayed with a little toss of his helm.

Prowl snagged him by an arm as he passed. By contrast the Praxian’s gait was even and his doorwings were held still. Jazz spun into Prowl’s personal space, ped sliding between Prowl’s own and one servo on his upper arm, arching backwards.

“Y’wanna dance Prowler?” There was a big grin on the miscreant's face.

“No.” Prowl was stern, radiating polite disapproval.

“Y’no fun y’know tha’?”

“So you have told me, several times.” 

“Spoilsport!” Jazz span away from him, humming another tune and performing a hop, step and a jump combination. Prowl watched him with a small smile, ready to school his face back to impassivity if Jazz turned. He wasn’t about to join Jazz in his manic dancing, but despite it being aggravating it never failed to amuse him too.

If he was really lucky he might be able to encourage Jazz to show off his best moves in private later on.


	25. Who Killed Cock Robin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, this is not actually a Christmas carol, but to me it is a very "Boxing Day" song which I heard on a lot of Boxing Days in my youth. Peggy Seeger recorded a great version of it with a lovely ban jo accompaniment. 
> 
> It was originally an 18th century nursery rhyme. There are a few different theories about what it means (including pagan sacrifice, regicide and the fall of governments), or it could be the sort of grim, disturbing story for kiddies that were so popular in the 18th and 19th centuries.
> 
> Soundwave is looking for something, Starscream is not helping!

_All the birds of the air  
Fell a sighing and a sobbing  
When they heard of the death   
Of poor cock robin _

“Soundwave: Will find out the truth.” 

Starscream simply kicked his thrusters up on the console in front of him, and gave the Decepticon third in command a smug little smirk and a sideways glance.

“Off you go then.” He sing-songed sweetly. Soundwave scowled behind his mask. “Primus forbid I get in your way.” Soundwave reflexively clenched his fist, and by the widening of Starscream’s smile he knew the seeker had caught it as well.

“Starscream: Is lying.”

“Decepticon.” Starscream chirped happily, red optics bright with mirth. Soundwave realised, with horror, that for once he was completely in agreement with Megatron’s preferred method of getting information out of Starscream. His servos itched to wrap themselves around the white seeker’s slender neck.

He kept them firmly by his sides.

“Soundwave: Will find out.” He warned again. Starscream had the audacity to giggle happily and Soundwave stalked out of the command centre.

He pondered his next move. Starscream was giving nothing away. The little brat was rather too good at that. 

On the other servo Skywarp was notoriously bad at keeping anything a secret. The black seeker was a terrible gossip. Soundwave made his decision.

***

Two jours later Soundwave was starting to regret trying to catch Skywarp. Starscream must have warned him that something was up, because the jet had teleported away with a small “eep” when he had approached. Soundwave’s jaw tightened in annoyance.

So when Thundercracker appeared around the corner, on his was to start his own shift in the control centre Soundwave didn’t hesitate.

“Wha…?” Thundercracker exclaimed as his wings hit the wall. 

“Query: Where is it?”

“Huh?” Thundercracker gave him a blank look. Trying to read the seeker’s processors was like trying to grab fog, but Soundwave got the impression that Thundercracker really didn’t know what he was talking about.

“Soundwave: Apologises.” He said instead, pulling back, out of Thundercracker’s personal space, and continuing down the corridor. He could feel the weight of Thundercracker’s puzzled expression on his back plates. The blue seeker was wondering what had happened to cause Soundwave to behave in a manner more befitting some of the more...erratic...Decepticons.

Explanations could wait, for now he had a black teleporter to catch.

Skywarp was sneaky, but so was Soundwave. More importantly, Soundwave was infinitely more patient that Skywarp and wasn’t running six parallel processing threads at any one time. The seeker evaded him for a bit, but too many warp jumps left him low on energy. 

Ravage warned him that Skywarp was heading back to his quarters, probably to refuel. Having anticipated this Soundwave was already standing in front of the door, projecting stern disapproval.

Black wings slumped, tiredly when Skywarp spotted him. 

“Awwww.”

“Suggestion: Tell me where it is.”

“Where what is?” Soundwave hated it when Skywarp attempted to play the innocent. The seeker was just so slagging bad at it.

“Tell.”

“Ugh! Fine! Screamer shoved it out of the airlock on deck six.” Skywarp pouted petulantly. “Now let me get to my quarters.

Soundwave sighed internally and pinged Ravage. They would need to search through the mud that the nemesis was sat in to get the delicate component back. His cassetticons would not be pleased, and then he needed to get the flux capacitor back into the space bridge and tested before Megatron wanted to get back from Cybertron. This was set to be a long cycle.

He’d maybe leave their leader’s return as a nice surprise for Starscream though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading this little bit of nonsense. I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> Happy new year!


End file.
